A person will sometimes devote all his life to the development of one part of his body - the wishbone.

Nor is there wanting in the press Some spirit to stand simply forth, Heroic in it nakedness, Against the uttermost of earth. The tale of earth's unhonored things Sounds nobler there than 'neath the sun; And the mind whirls and the heart sings, And a shout greets the daring one.

The hurt is not enough: I long for weight and strength. To feel the earth as rough to all my length

I hope to leave behind a few poems it will be hard to get rid of.

I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.

You can be a little ungrammatical if you come from the right part of the country.

The only way out is through.